At last... Sort of

I'm snowed in right now. Sure, it's only 4" of the white stuff on the ground, but it's enough that my evening plans got canceled/postponed/shaken up. No matter. Tomorrow night we're going clubbing, and I have a good feeling about it.

Saddam Hussein is dead. The Iraqis didn't waste much time once the verdict came in, huh? And even though I thought he was an evil man (for sure) I still feel weird about it. Must be my slight aversion to capital punishment coming out. The finality is what bothers me most, I think. It's a symptom of my own indecisiveness.

But here's a heck of an update for you—I think I may have ended things once and for all with an erstwhile admirer. I tried to be kind, but I think I may just have come across looking like a bit of a lunatic. I told this fella that while I have a little crush on him, I am struck again and again that he ought to ask this other girl out. It finally came out that while I think he's the nicest person in the world, I worry that I bore him because we have so little in common. He's not the least bit interested in the things I like, and I just can't connect with him. I don't know anything about animals—hunting them, riding them, roping them, etc. I've never made a bullwhip. So it feels weird (though not so final as Saddam's outcome) and I hope it was the right thing to do. I don't have that sense of relief I expected, but I also don't feel like the world's worst person who deserves to burn for telling the truth either.

But all this will pass… to paraphrase Mr. Bennett in "Pride and Prejudice", likely much sooner than it ought. Especially because tomorrow night I'm set to be the dancing queen, and may line myself up with the Kissing Kitty Award yet again. We'll see how it goes.

My gift is my song

OK, ok. For all you who have begged and pleaded, I've got a couple pictures of the house posted. Sorry to not stick them right here, but html codes are a little hard to come by when you are dealing with the world's slowest dial-up connection. I'm just too impatient.
Anyway, I'm pleased to tell you my voice is coming back. Those who know me well can imagine what a hardship it has been to not be able to talk for the last 72 hours. And not just because I like to hear myself (which, I'll admit, I do). It's been tough trying to help customers and only having a whisper come out. And though I'm just beginning to mend, you can bet I'm not being sensible and staying home, like a good little girl. No, tonight I'm hanging out with some friends at an outdoor event (brrr.... snow expected) and planning on dancing tomorrow night. I'll likely pay for it later, but you can't keep me down. I don't think I'm contagious, so that's something. I'm hoping that if I run into one of those men who's turned my head lately, that he'll just think I'm a super-good listener and be contented to talk all about himself. I'm sure this will be a win-win. I'll learn more about the object of my latest obsession and preserve my voice (scratchy as it may be) and he'll certainly think I'm the most engaging, interesting person. Haha! This may be the first day since Sunday I've felt well enough to put on clothes and makeup, but my brain doesn't turn off, even when slowed by the Nyquil.

Live and learn

Well, it happened again. Last night I went out dancing and enjoyed myself immensely, but when I ran into... what is it that I call him? Mr. Cute-Guy-Who-Makes-Me-Lose-My-Train-of-Thought? Yes, him. At first all was well and we had a nice chat (and he's a heck of a dancer, I might add), but before long, I couldn't get the words out. I think it's when I'm trying to be cool. Lesson 1: Don't try too hard.
Still, I felt it all went quite well, especially considering I'd maimed myself earlier in the evening. In preparation for the big dance, I thought I'd give myself the extra edge with beautiful, clean pores. Lesson 2: Don't use a Biore Pore Perfect Strip right before you are going to see someone who makes you as nervous as this boy does me. I pulled off the little strip, and noticed a red mark on the bridge of my nose. And it totally was this bruise or broken blood vessel, or something. Needless to say, I'm pretty sure several people wanted to say, "You've got a smudge of eyeline on your nose... just there." Fortunately, they didn't. And here's hoping no one really noticed too much, but things like that make you look a little grotesque, don't they? Lesson 3: Pride goeth before the fall.

The few, the proud, the 5%

I read in the newspaper a couple days ago that 95 percent of people in the United States have premarital sex before the age of 40. REALLY. I wouldn't have guessed it was quite that high. The other interesting thing is that this number extends to folks of every age range. The study was supposed to show how premarital promiscuity has changed over time, and it basically showed it hasn't. I was very surprised.
Now I'm sorry if people think I'm a prude (because apparently you can't even call me old-fashioned), but I'm happy to be part of the minority on this one (even though I'm not really what you'd call close to 40 yet). And it makes me happy that I know lots of people in this same category-- props to Ashley who gave her husband Aaron her "True Love Waits" ring on her wedding day.
Anyway, I just thought this was interesting.

False Alarm

Here's a story that would mortify my mother. Actually, no. I told her, but she didn't find it as funny as I did.
So I was sitting in church yesterday, trying to listen to the lesson, but very distracted by the fact that it is practically winter and that means every ounce of moisture in my body has been sucked out by the cold, dry, New Mexico climate. Yuck. And even though I faithfully slather lotions and potions on, I'm pretty lucky to have normal skin this time of year. EXCEPT my lips are kind of chapped. Gross, I know, but gimme a break. It happens to everyone. EXCEPT (again) I noticed that there was kind of a little bump on my lip. WHAT THE...? So I touched my lip again, wondering what was happening. I even excused myself to go to the restroom for a look in the mirror. And I started to freak out. Could this be... horror of horrors... a COLD SORE? AGGHHHH!! Herpes!
I've never had one, and I certainly never want one (no judgment to my friends who get them, obviously, but can't we all agree that no one wants one?). So after church, I marched right up to my friend Mr. H (the last fella I kissed) and asked him if he'd ever had one. He promised me he's clean, and so am I. Turns out, my lip is fine, but boy, did I nearly flip. There would have been some serious smackdown if I'd been saddled with those for the rest of my life.
Anyway, I'm not sure Killer thought it was so funny, but in hindsight, I find the whole thing hysterical. And I'm happy to say I feel fine about kissing whomever I want without spreading ickiness.

Tempered Bliss

OK, ok. If anyone actually came back after the cheese factor, I thank you. And as a matter of clarification, no one needs to worry that I have a serious case of Andrew-fever... I can assure you my happiness is like unto the reunion of the prodigal son with his grieving father, though I'm not sure if I were father or son in this case. Anyway, (and on a totally unrelated note) I'm still not dating, and I'm still blissfully happy about it. But I will tell you if cute-boy-who-made-me-lose-my-train-of-thought asks me out, I'm back on the market. Keep those fingers crossed for me, will ya? And let's hope it happens sooner rather than later, so I can take Shania Twain's "No one needs to know right now" off repeat in my car (I can't believe I just admitted that, but you know me-- no secrets, for better or worse).
Things here are still very good on the whole. The house was on hold for a week or so, but things should pick up again this week. The metal roofing materials and pellet stove are both being delivered on Monday, so it will be nice to see a few more cosmetic (though thoroughly necessary) changes.
And I'm getting to the point where I really do look forward to living on my own again. There are certain hazards associated with a home office. Like when you don't get home until 1:30 a.m., and your father wakes you up at 6 a.m. on Saturday morning to do some paperwork for him. OK, first of all, SATURDAY. 6 A.M.! And did I mention he gave me this paperwork at about 4:45 p.m. yesterday afternoon, while I was still buried in invoicing and was trying to get ready to go out? Seriously. It was putting names on folders, but really. So after about 10 minutes of work, I tried to go back to bed, but my father, who insisted he HAD to have those folders done right that moment, was on the treadmill in the next room and it was super loud. I finally nodded off for a little while when my mom put my dog in my bed. No biggie, except about an hour later, my brother came in and tried to get the dog to attack me (it backfired... she just barked enough that I figured I might as well get up anyway). But thank heavens my little brother is getting married. He uncerimoniously announced yesterday that he is moving to his future home today. He's been saying this for so long that no one really believed him, but sure enough, he just pulled his old mattress out and knocked over my mother's creche, and decapitated poor Joseph in the process. So my fingers are sticky from gluing a family heirloom back together, but I think Joseph looks pretty good considering his traumatic experience. Let's hope I will still look as good when I move out in a few months, given my own traumatic experiences around this joint. But I promise, I'm not unhappy. Just a little sleep deprived. But it's ok. I've got fun plans for tonight, and somehow that makes everything funny instead of bad.

Write Now, Be Embarrassed Later

Let's hope this isn't overkill, but I'm so happy, I can't help but want to share my joy with the international blogging community, my adoring fans, anyone who'll read, etc.
Today was one of those days where everything was right in the world. Well, of course not everything, but still one of those happy days where you get one pleasant surprise after another and you find yourself wondering, "Who am I to lead such a charmed life?"
Oh, some of it may not seems so remarkable to the untrained eye-- like me visiting with the cabinet guy (the cherry cabinets are going to be GORGEOUS-- I'm so lucky!) and picking out my countertops, then finding the perfect tile to go with it, and a salesman who is basically throwing in the glue and grout for free. Some would say this is just dumb luck, but you learn to appreciate it when you've got these awesome upgrades to your domecile and they are completely budget-friendly. I promise, I promise. Pictures of the house will be posted soon. This whole not having a digital camera -thing is kind of cramping my style after all.
But as our friend Ron Popeill would say, "Wait... there's more."
Even I-- despite my propensity for what my friend Amanda calls "chronic optimism"-- would not feel compelled to pour out my feelings to strangers based solely on my housing developments. So, apologizing for the long intro, let me tell you what really made my day--
I came home from my Albuquerque errands to find several pieces of mail waiting in my room. Chief amongst them was a large package from a man I've not talked to since probably March. And I've missed him. And even though I figured it was for Christmas, I lost all self-restraint and tore open the envelope. Inside I found two beautiful treasures-- a calendar showcasing the motherland (Poland, of course), and a Christmas card, written in the very distinctive, masculine scrawl of a hand I truly love. I love the calendar, but I loved the card more. I was frightened this very important man was out of my life forever (do to my own fault, naturally) and I was beginning to think he was going to be shelved into the category of "someone I used to love with whom I don't speak any more." I've been blessed. There aren't too many people in my life I've gone to the trouble of actually caring for who slip through the cracks to the point I don't hear from them. Boys I've dated, girls I've shared secrets with-- even if I don't talk to them often, it's not odd for me to call them up for a quick chat, and vice versa. This one, though, nearly got away. And he was the kind of friend you NEED-- someone who makes you want to be so good that you're sure you'll never measure up, but you'll die trying. I don't know why he had that effect on me, but he did.
I really began to feel the profound sense of loss during the demise of my last relationship. When I held up the guy I'd been seeing next to the truly good men I know, the difference was night and day. Oh, it's not that my former kissing-partner is such a terrible person. I imagine he'll turn into something wonderful. But Andrew (yes, Andrew... and if you are a stalker and have been secretly reading about all my highs and lows and not telling me, you're back in the doghouse-- just kidding), who only fell into the category of "friend," just stands as such a beacon of goodness, it's a wonder the boy doesn't have an Elvis-like following. I'm sure he'd say I was exaggerating, but he is just so GOOD. He's handsome. He's smart. He's motivated and a self-starter. When he noticed a smoke stack at BYU and all the pollution it put out, he did his own research and presented a plan to lower harmful emissions or something else I didn't understand. He has gone and served my people, and I would love him for that alone, but he helped me find a bathroom in Prague when I thought I was at death's door. He's carried my luggage and carried my load. We've sat together in an English lit class and laughed at our professor and then sent that same professor a postcard we picked up together in Warsaw. Once, in a note he wrote, "Raindrops on roses, whiskers on kittens, brown paper packages and Rachel Sego." It was the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me.
And I know it isn't fair. I've always had him on a pedestal he didn't ask to be put on, but my admiration for him exceeds nearly all others. I think I got disgruntled about some little thing and pridefully let go. And it hurt when he didn't grasp on for dear life. Why should he? But this dearest friend of mine, in his charming and clever way, has reconnected us through a place we love in such a way that I'm sure he knows I'll think of him every day. But I already did.

It's you I like

It's that time again-- late at night, and time to write. Time to let all the free radicals in my brain come seeping out into something I hope is coherent.
As you get older, your likes and dislikes really crystalize. I'm sure it's just the trial-and-error wisdom that comes with age, but sometimes things surprise you.
A few years ago, I was convinced I wanted to be a wedding planner. Don't ask me why. I never fancied myself Jennifer Lopez or anything, but I love throwing parties, and I love seeing other people in love. Great combo, right? These days, my spare moments are filled helping my brother and future sis-in-law work out the details of their upcoming nuptials. It's still fun, but surprisingly hard. I mean, I think if this were my full-time gig instead of something I try to squeeze in here and there it might be different. And it's not like I've done/am doing a lot. I did go with Skye to pick out reception decorations and to the florist to talk shop when it came to flowers for the wedding party. I'll be putting together the toss bouquet and an arch for the happy couple to stand under at the reception. Also on tap, making pasta salad for 300, finding a red dress, and working on wedding favors and announcements. I booked the honeymoon last week, and am supposed to help brother find a good way to give her the ring (it's still on order, though wedding plans are moving full speed ahead). This morning, I spent a couple hours researching addresses so people will actually come to this thing. The bridal shower is in just a few weeks.
Still, with all the work, it reinforces the fact that I like organizing big, impossible tasks. I like that I'm sure I like this business, even though it's not what I do on a daily basis.
Other things I've known I've loved forever: Mr. Roger's Neighborhood (which is why I plan to name one of my daughters Elaine Fairchild someday); performing (and I take that in any way I can get it-- which is why I'll be re-joining the Institute Choir in January-- it's not theatre, but it will do); and last, but not least, the 1950s and 60s. It started in 1st Grade when I first saw "Grease" and has blossomed into a love affair with vintage clothing, a collection of great vinyl, harmonica lessons to channel Bob Dylan, and a secret fantasy of spending an evening slow dancing with a boyfriend to old doo-wap tunes. Preferrably while wearing a poodle skirt and saddle shoes.

The start of something new

Tonight my feet hurt, and my eyes keep blinking more and more slowly. I'm sleepy, but I'm happy. I don't know that I'll ever feel all is right in the world, but I love that most days I feel pretty good about life anyway.
I've been thinking that since I moved from Utah to New Mexico, I've given up my peace but I saved my soul. It's a decision I'm happy with.
Oh, and we had our choir's Christmas Concert tonight. It was fun... helped put me in a Christmas-y mood, and I like that. I did have a little slip-up on my narration. I was in the middle of reading and was blinded by the smile of a really handsome man. It took me off guard and I lost my place. It was fantastic. I like people who make me lose my composure a bit. Maybe my sabbatical isn't going to last so long after all. Ahh. I like the idea of trading up. This is good, even if it only happens in my head for now.

You're a girl and I'm a boy

I'm not really a boy, but I did something masculine-ish today. I helped unload a semi, full of fiberglass blowing wool for wall systems (you can get an R-23 in a 2x6 wall with blown fiberglass or cellulose, as opposed to an R-19 with regular batted insulation). My dad ran into a bit of a sitch when he had a driver show up with a couple thousand bags (at 30 lbs each) that was supposed to be here in 2 weeks. So my cousin and I, along with my dad's mechanic/handyman (random, I know) unloaded this beast. The best thing is that I'd gone to the gym already and had a KILLER GOOD workout, so pretty much I'm guessing tomorrow is going to be a bit of a sore day. Heck, tomorrow nothing. Every part of me aches right now, but I feel ok about it. However, I think I'll go back to my cushy "girl" job of being a secretary. It's more my style.
Oh, and because Sokphal requested the mention of some "other" men in my next blog, here you go. Lately, I've been meeting the nicest guys... my electrician, my cabinet guy, etc. They are all married. Hahaha! But at least it's a mention, right? No, the sabatical lives on, but I'm quite happy with it. It's a lot less trouble. And let's be honest-- when would I even have time for a boyfriend when I've got plans/obligations EVERY day? As I think I've said before, it looks like I'll be able to take a breather around April. April will be a convenient time for Mr. Right to come along.
But let's talk interesting. How about a house update? The metal for the roof is ordered, as is the pellet stove insert (GORGEOUS!). The wood-wraps around the windows are also up, and they are amazingly beautiful. This week, the electrician, plumber, and duct people are all working. I'm supposed to pick out faucets this week. The propane guy is coming by to hook up some pipes, etc. It's all just zooming along. I love going up there and walking through, imagining what it will all look like, planning the parties I'll have there. I can't wait to have guests! I even have thought of different things to cook for people when they come over. And most of all, I dream of that jetted bathtub, which would be nice right around now, being Little Suzy Sore-Muscles and all. But I'll be in soon enough.